Model for a Day
by Candaru
Summary: Gabriel Agreste finally hosts another fashion show for an adult clothing line, only for the model of his most important piece to go missing. He finds an unlikely replacement in his personal assistant— but for whatever reason, Nathalie is unusually disobedient about putting on the dress. (Nathalie-centric, implied one-sided Gabenath, rated T for implied past violence/abuse.)
1. Chapter 1

Nathalie Sancoeur had written enough monthly reports for a lifetime.

It was a nice change of pace, she thought, to at _least_ be organizing another fashion show again. Far too long had gone by since their last, and only a significant drop in profits had been able to convince Gabriel Agreste that it was high time he released a new adult line. The designs were more simplistic than normal, having been rushed, but with an excited camera crew, packed audience, and full set of models who were _not_ Adrien, the line was bound to sell. All Nathalie had left to do now was confirm a few journalist appointments and watch the show the next day: an easy job, for once.

"Nathalie!"

…Of course, things were never as easy as they were supposed to be. Nathalie groaned, knowing the worried tone of her boss's voice meant something was severely wrong.

"Yes, sir?" she asked as the tall, intimidating man walked in with his hands behind his back. He stood short of her by several feet and paused before relaying his information, which wasn't like him.

"I need you to model for me."

Nathalie stood with a start. Her master wasn't one to make jokes.

"Excuse me, sir?!"

Mr. Agreste sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I apologize for how sudden this is, but I have no other choice. One of our models has supposedly fallen ill and is unable to attend tomorrow."

"Supposedly?" Nathalie raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, well, she's associated with a particular rival brand of ours in the past. I wouldn't put it past them if they bribed her to throw off my plans. I'm sure you'll recall Ms. Yang?"

Nathalie tried to stop her head from spinning. Ms. Yang was a slender, pale woman with short, dark hair and stunning amber eyes, and she was in the program as the model for the _Empty Heart_ dress— the last in the collection. "Yes, of course. Do you truly believe foul play was involved?"

"All's fair in love and war, Nathalie, and fashion is both. I've tried to get in contact with her, but her calls have been mysteriously blocked since she left the message."

"One moment, sir," Nathalie said, reaching for a file on her desk and fanning through it. "How could I have been unaware of this? All calls are screened through me."

Mr. Agreste gritted his teeth and held up his cell phone. "Her agent somehow got ahold of _my_ number. Another reason we can expect that she won't be recovering from her 'illness' any time soon."

Nathalie slid a piece of paper out of the file and handed it over. "That's terribly unfortunate, sir, but we have a list of models that only just didn't make the cut. Surely one of them will suffice."

The designer batted away the paper with curt annoyance. "You don't think I would've thought of that? If it were any of the other dresses, perhaps we could use a replacement. But _Empty Heart_ was the final piece of the show; my _coup d'état_. It was designed to stand out from the others while blending into a crowd— that was its cutline."

Suddenly, Nathalie remembered something. "That's the halter-style one, is it not?"

"Yes, and I'd _hope_ my own assistant would remember my designs."

Nathalie bowed her head. "Sorry, sir."

"Because of that, it requires someone with a specific shape, color, and complexion," the master continued, "and you happen to fit the bill. Besides, to teach someone new the whole routine in less than a day would wreck my schedule. You already know what has to be done; you put the whole event together."

"Yes, but, sir—" Nathalie started, then stopped herself. "I mean, are you sure you wouldn't rather find a replacement? I could teach them the routine myself; there isn't too much to do."

"And what about the posing afterwards, and the interviews with the reporters?" Mr. Agreste asked gruffly. "There's too much sensitive information that only you and I know how to handle. And I'm hardly fit to model the thing myself. It may be unusual, but we'll just have to make do." He started to turn away, as if the matter were settled.

"Sir, I— I can't," Nathlie blurted out. Her master froze and turned back halfway.

"What did you just say to me?"

Nathalie shrank down in horror as she realized she'd just refuted an order. In a much quieter voice, she repeated, "I— I can't wear the dress. Trust me, it won't work."

Mr. Agreste scoffed. "What is this, an insecurity fest? I told you when I hired you that your physique was in top shape. I'm a _fashion_ designer; I have a reputation to uphold. I'd never offer a job that was tied to my name to someone who couldn't dress the part."

Yes, she did remember him telling her that, and she tried every day to forget it. "Sir, you have to believe me," she stated shakily. "A suit, I can pull off. Even if we had another dress that needed to be filled, I might be able to do the job. But I guarantee that if you saw me in _that_ dress, you'd realize I'm not suited to model it."

Her pleading did seem to have some effect on the man, but it wasn't the effect desired. He seemed angered worse than before.

"I don't know what's prompted you to behave in such a manner, but I am giving you an _order,_ not a request. Go change into the dress and I'll decide for myself whether or not you're 'fit' to model _the most important piece of the entire collection."_

Nathalie lowered her head and nodded meekly, pushing in her desk chair and slinking away from the stacks of papers and bills. She tried to reassure herself as she walked: it was going to come out sometime, better to have it over with now than continually fear his finding out.

A few minutes later, the _click_ of the bathroom lock could be heard, and Nathalie Sancoeur began to change.


	2. Chapter 2

Gabriel Agreste was apprehensive about his assistant's strange outburst of disobedience. Alarming thoughts of a certain Miraculous kept springing up forcefully in the back of his mind, and he just as forcefully shoved them back down.

He tapped his watch. She'd been in the bathroom for twenty minutes now; well over the amount of time required to change clothes, even by a woman's standards. He rapped on the door.

"Are you quite finished? Or have you taken after my son and decided to escape mid-chore through who knows what means?"

Even through the solid oak door, Gabriel could _hear_ his assistant's eye-roll.

"No, sir." A moment of silence passed, and then the door unlocked and slowly swung open.

Gabriel prided himself on his ability to keep his emotions under wraps, but his jaw dropped in shock as Nathalie took a tentative step out. She remained half-hidden in the doorway, and now at least he knew why.

Lesions, scars, and burn marks of various degrees of severity marred the woman's otherwise flawless complexion, like cracks in a piece of smooth white pottery. Her eyes were wide with fear. Gabriel was silent for a moment.

"Turn around."

Nathalie obeyed, turning slowly in a circle so he could see the full extent of the marks. They were mostly small and dotted along her arms, but several large ones were prominently displayed thanks to the backless design of the dress.

"Who did this?" Gabriel asked gravely.

"Th-they're old marks, sir," Nathalie replied, clearing her throat. "Unfortunately, many of them haven't faded… I apologize for not telling you sooner. The remark you made about 'looking the part' while you were hiring made me fear perhaps I'd be disqualified, and I was desperate for the job, so I took extra care in keeping my blemishes hidden." She bowed her head, causing the light to strike her glasses in such a way that her employer could no longer see them.

Gabriel was careful not to let his anger show at her use of the term "blemishes" to describe something so severe. Instead he examined her carefully, the creative part of his brain already spinning gears to solve the problem.

"Actually," he said after a few minutes of consideration, "this isn't unfixable."

Nathalie looked up in surprise and… possibly relief, though Gabriel couldn't be certain. "Sir?"

"Stay there," he replied, and walked quickly off to retrieve an item locked carefully away in a dresser drawer in an upper room of the house. When he returned, Nathalie hadn't moved an inch. He handed her the silk parcel in his hands, which she unfolded with wide-eyed awe.

"But— sir!" In her hands was now a scarcely used pair of shoulder-length black gloves. "Weren't these your wife's?"

"They'll work with the dress, at least for tonight. I'll return them to their rightful place afterwards," he replied. "Now, as for the back…" He walked over behind the woman and started removing both her glasses and the bobby pins from her hair. She flinched in surprise at his touch, but stood stiffly and obediently as he took down her headache-inducing-tight bun and let the dark strands of hair fall against her back. It was coarser than it looked, probably due to the amount of hairspray she used. When he was finished, he ran his fingers through it once or twice and then stepped back.

"Turn around," he commanded again. Gabriel was silent while he studied the replacement model with an artist's eye. He nodded approvingly as she slowly turned for him, her long hair now sweeping over the scarred parts of her back and flowing over her shoulders in a rough yet elegant way. The one maroon streak in her hair matched the subtle accents of the dress, and her blue eyes were piercing and unreadable. A bit of styling with the hair, and perhaps a darker eyeshadow, and…

"You practically wear it better than Ms. Yang," Gabriel noted aloud. Nathalie seemed startled.

"A-are you sure?" she asked, her eyes darting to the floor.

"I'm always sure," he replied with another satisfactory nod. "We'll have the makeup crew do a bit of touch-up tomorrow before the shoot and everything should go smoothly."

"Y-yes, sir," Nathalie said. She started walking through the doorway to change back, but Gabriel laid a hand on her shoulder to stop her. She flinched and spun around.

"One more thing."

Nathalie bit her lip. "Of course."

Gabriel looked into her eyes for a hard moment. "If you ever feel like dropping the name of whoever did this, my akumas will be happy to pay special attention to them during Paris' next unfortunate accident."

Nathalie quickly threw her hand over her mouth, and Gabriel could've sworn he heard her stifle a laugh before she resumed her default expression. "…Thank you, Mr. Agreste."

He nodded and let her go.

* * *

(me: I'm a weak little child who can't handle dark stuff, that's why I only watch kids' cartoons  
also me: what if the emotionally repressed character who always wears long sleeves is actually covered in scars and burns from physical abuse)


	3. Chapter 3

It was about time Nadja Chamack had an event to cover that _wasn't_ interrupted by an akuma attack.

To be honest, she couldn't help herself from glancing over her shoulder every so often, wondering if Mrs. Bourgeoisie had angered some employee, or if somebody with a bad hair day had cried out in anger. But shockingly enough, Mrs. Bourgeoisie seemed pleased by the overall performance, the fashionistas were all happily swapping hair-care tips, and the air was clear from butterflies as far as the eye could see.

"Too simple," the blonde-haired woman stated when Nadja Chamack asked her on her opinion of the new lineup. "Utterly too simple. Certainly not Gabriel's best work. However… that last piece was clearly inspired. And I _will_ say that the bee-inspired dress was a sight to behold, wasn't it, darling?"

"Of course it was!" a younger version of the woman piped up, tossing back her hair. "Everyone knows yellow and black are the hottest new colors!" She and her mother laughed in unison, slinging their arms around each other's waists.

"And what about the mysterious last-minute replacement of the model Yin Yang?" Nadja asked. "Any inside thoughts about the matter?"

Mrs. Bourgeoisie opened her gaping mouth in a way that suggested some juicy information, but a voice from behind her interrupted.

"I'm sorry, but anyone associated with Agreste Fashion isn't at liberty to discuss our models' personal lives."

Nadja gasped and quickly motioned for her cameraman to reposition. "Ms. Sancouer!" She smiled brightly into the camera. "Speak of the devil and the devil shall appear, huh, folks? This is Nadja Chamack, speaking to none other than Nathalie Sancouer, personal assistant to Gabriel Agreste and last-minute replacement _model_ for the most important piece in his new lineup!"

Nathalie nodded her head professionally to the camera, and Nadja eagerly shoved a microphone into her face.

"So, Ms. Sancouer, what _can_ you tell us about the disappearance of Ms. Yang, who was scheduled to model the dress you're now wearing?"

Nathalie folded her hands politely in front of her body. "She didn't 'disappear,' she merely grew sick at the worst possible moment."

"Of course, of course," Nadja said with a wink. "Speaking of the dress, you look absolutely stunning in it! How did it feel to be up on the stage instead of down in the bleachers where you usually watch?"

To the reporter's glee, Nathalie was unable to hide the red rising in her cheeks from the compliment. "Well, it was… certainly out of my comfort zone. But I'm happy to have been able to help what may have been a disastrous problem."

"No kidding!" Nadja replied. "Our ratings are up by 37% right now! From the sidelines to the stage! A new star in the spotlight!"

"You do realize this is only temporary," Nathalie stated, glancing from Nadja to the camera.

"All I know is that the cameras have been eating you up," Nadja stated slyly. "And I overheard multiple newspaper reporters calling you the newest queen of style. Not to ruin the surprise for any Sunday paper readers, but I believe one quote written about your aesthetic was 'a longing blue gaze on a starry night sky?'" She nudged Nathalie in a less-than-professional manner, but the reaction was exactly what she was going for.

"W-well, it's certainly a pleasure to hear that people are enjoying the show," Nathalie stated. Then, to the camera, she added, "This particular dress is titled _Empty Heart,_ for those of you who are interested. It will be in stores soon, so don't forget to stay up-to-date with the official Agreste Fashion website."

"And what about the gloves?" Nadja asked. Nathalie froze for a moment, and her professional demeanor broke just long enough for the fear to shine out of her eyes.

"Th-they aren't for sale," she said after a second of silence. "These were actually a last-minute addition to the outfit." She clutched her left arm with her right in an unusually nervous manner. There was _definitely_ a story hiding there…

But as much as Nadja's reporter instincts wanted to pursue the issue, she also didn't want to be the harbinger of negative emotions to a butterfly-free sky.

"Another mystery, hm? Well, thank you so much for your time!" she said cheerfully. She shook hands with the interviewee and smiled charismatically at the camera. "We'll be right back for a special interview with none other than Gabriel Agreste himself after the break, so don't change the channel!"

The cameraman nodded as the feed was sent to commercial break. Not a moment later, a well-dressed boy with green eyes ran up to the filming group energetically.

"Nathalie, you look amazing!"

Nadja silently cursed Adrien's timing, because to catch Nathalie's face on camera when he ran up and hugged her would've shot the ratings up another 20% for sure.

"Adrien—" Nathalie coughed to clear her throat, then sighed and awkwardly laid a hand on the boy's head when he didn't let go. "Thank you, Adrien, that's enough."

"Sorry," the blond apologized, stepping back. "But really, you did a great job! I should get Father to let you replace me in some of my photoshoots."

"Good luck convincing him with _that,_" Nathalie responded, and for a moment it looked like the pair was smiling about some inside joke. But it was gone in a moment as Nathalie's firm professionalism came back and Adrien turned to Nadja.

"Hello, Mrs. Chamack!"

"Hello, Adrien," she greeted, shaking the boy's hand. "It's been a while since your father's last adult clothing line, hasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was nice to be able to sit down and watch for a change, honestly," he replied with a smile.

"Adrien!"

Nadja saw the all-important figure of Gabriel Agreste approaching and motioned to both Adrien and Nathalie. "That would be your cue to leave," she said. "I expect he wants both of you someplace or another, as we have a personal interview with him in just a few minutes."

Both models nodded and turned around. As their voices faded into the rest of the crowd, Nadja could hear Adrien continuing to compliment Nathalie, which she unsuccessfully tried to get him to stop doing. She couldn't help but wonder what their dynamic was when the cameras weren't around.

…But that scoop would have to wait for another time. Nadja motioned to her crew and they started traveling over to their next location as a pack.

After all, in this city, there was always another story to be told.

* * *

(A/N: Hope you enjoyed, and as always, reviews feed my muse!)


	4. Chapter 4

(A/N: Okay, so, chapter 3 was actually SUPPOSED to be the last one, but apparently I forgot to mark the story as "finished" when I published it. And I wasn't... really happy with the ending anyways? So this chapter happened. It feels a bit more like its own story than a continuation to me, but I still hope you all like it "^^)

* * *

It had been a few months, and Nathalie was still nowhere close to being used to her new title.

The newspapers liked fantasizing the "new queen of style" as a classic rags-to-riches type story, which she found both entertaining and annoying. In the first place, they made her normal position as an accountant sound like an undesirable job to have. They even seemed to have the misconception that she was barely paid enough to feed herself, when the truth was that she was very handsomely funded. She just didn't get enough time off to actually spend her earnings.

The worst part of the whole affair was that ever since she'd agreed to take on occasional modeling jobs, the cameras had been paying a bit too much attention to her, even outside of fashion shows. She was very aware that they were looking for some hidden story to expose, which would've been bad enough if she didn't actually have one. Thankfully they were passing off the black gloves as a "symbolic trademark" for the moment, but Nathalie still found herself intensely aware of her appearance every time she appeared in public. She felt she somewhat understood why Mr. Agreste never wanted to leave his house anymore.

Still, profits were higher than they'd been since— well, since _she_ disappeared. And although she wouldn't admit it out loud, she actually enjoyed dressing up. Not so much for glamour or beauty, but because every time she put on another dress, it was easy to look in the mirror and imagine she was someone other than herself. With her hair down and glasses off, she was barely recognizable as Nathalie Sancoeur, let alone after the makeup crew had worked with her. She stood in front of the mirror for a long time some days, making up stories for the outfits she wore. This one was a seamstress who made clothes for the royal family, this one was a hero with a properly working Miraculous, this one was a young and excitable girl going to her first prom. She'd never fancied herself an imaginative person, but Nathalie found comfort in the act of pretending. Mayura made her feel like the most powerful version of herself, but modeling let her forget herself entirely. There was no monthly report to write, no Agreste family to serve, no scars to hide or aches to conceal.

And on this particular occasion, she wasn't even working with her employer. She checked her watch as she sorted through piles of fabrics. It was already nine minutes past the appointment time, if the girl had the nerve to show up ten minutes late…

"I'M SO SORRY I'M LATE!"

Nathalie looked up from her watch as a girl with short pigtails ran through the door, looseleaf paper flying out of a sketchbook clutched to her chest. The girl yelped and quickly started gathering up the designs while explaining her predicament.

"I was on my way five minutes early just like Mr. Agreste asked I promise but then there was a kitten crossing the road and it almost got hit so I had to stop the driver and then the driver asked me what I was doing and then this kid came by on his bike and almost crashed into the stopped car and then I realized I left my design sketchbook at home and—"

"Marinette."

The girl squeaked and bowed her head in apology. "I'm sorry!"

Nathalie sighed and suppressed herself from smiling at how much the girl reminded her of _him_ when he was younger. With a serious expression, she shook her head gently. "Please try to refrain from showing up late in the future. Mr. Agreste has a very busy schedule."

"O-o-of course!" Marinette stammered. "But, um…" she looked around. "I don't see Mr. Agreste anywhere nearby."

"His schedule is my schedule," Nathalie replied simply, walking over and receiving the sketchbook from the younger girl. "As his personal assistant, I am required to attend every event he does, as well as taking care of all phone calls and business affairs. And lately, what little downtime I do have has been overtaken by another job."

"You mean modeling, right?" the girl exclaimed, stars in her eyes. "I've seen you in some of the papers and on T.V.! It's really amazing, you look so confident up there!"

Nathalie didn't bother correcting her false impression. "Thank you. But the point is that it takes a lot of time. Which is why we should stop talking about me and get started on your trial run."

"Oh! Of course!" Marinette grabbed the sketchbook back and pulled a single piece of paper out. "Er, so, this was the design I settled on. It's not perfect, but, uh, I really hope you like it! I already went over it with Mr. Agreste and he said it was okay…" She tapped her fingers together nervously, doing a terrible job of conveying a professional image. Nathalie would have to talk with her about that if she really wanted to work with Mr. Agreste someday, but—

She gasped as she looked down at the paper in her hand. In light, neat strokes of pencil, the girl who stood before her had drawn a beautifully elegant dress that was quite obviously modeled after _her._ Dark blue with a red streak up the side that faded into maroon, the design was high-collared and sleeveless, with the "trademark black gloves" drawn to the sides. Nathalie studied it long and hard, then raised an eyebrow.

"Did you…?"

Marinette fidgeted with nervous excitement. "Well, y'know, since you're helping me with this project and you'll be the one wearing it, I thought I'd design it after you!" Quieter, she added, "Mr. Agreste suggested it, actually, but I liked the idea, so…"

Nathalie looked at the design with mixed emotions including both embarrassment and pride. "I'm… very honored. Thank you, Marinette."

Marinette beamed and breathed a big sigh of relief. "You're welcome! I'm so glad you like it! I call it _Mending Heart._ You know, after the first dress you wore, 'cuz the style is pretty similar. And I was thinking about adding a little red heart right there? Um, but I wasn't sure if that was too much, with the red streak and all. I probably should've asked Mr. Agreste about that sooner, I know, but I got nervous."

Goodness gracious, this child really _was_ a hopeless case. What Adrien saw in her, Nathalie would never understand. (That was a lie, and she knew it. But still.)

"I think the heart is a lovely idea. But first, do you have the measurements for the rest of the dress?"

"Yeah, they're right here!" Marinette said, flipping through the sketchbook. It was a wonder how her drawings could be so neat and yet her manner so messy. She glanced around as she handed over the pages of measurements. "By the way, do you know if Adrien is here?"

"No, he's currently at fencing practice. Were you hoping to see him?"

"What? No!" Marinette denied quickly. "I mean, yes! I mean, it'd be sice to see nee him. I mean, nice to see him! Because he's my friend! Not because I like him. I mean, I do like him, but, not like that!"

"M-hm," Nathalie responded, allowing herself a slight smirk.

"I don't!" Marinette exclaimed, her voice getting higher. "I mean, I do! But I'm not obsessed, I'm, pff, it's fine he's not here. I'm GLAD he's not here, I get tired of seeing him so much, you know? Not that I don't like seeing him! He's wonderful! But, uh, not so wonderful I want to spend every minute of the rest of my life by his side, hahaha…"

Nathalie was much better at keeping her calm than Marinette, but it was still hard for her not to smile at the girl's outbursts. She was really very entertaining.

"Well, we can talk more about Adrien while you get working. These measurements all look fine to me; the fabric is right there for you to use." She gestured to the piles of sorted fabric, which Marinette gawked at the sight of.

"Really? All this? This is really high-quality!" The young designer ran her hand over some of the expensive materials delicately. Nathalie nodded.

"Of course. Mr. Agreste only works with the best."

"He really takes pride in his work, doesn't he?" Marinette said, a soft gleam in her eye that only came from one artist understanding another.

"Yes… Yes, he does," Nathalie replied. She was silent for a moment. Then, motioning to a pre-set desk with scissors, pins, and a sewing machine, she said, "You'd best start working. I'll be observing and taking notes as you do."

Marinette took a deep breath, then nodded with a confident grin and started gathering up what she needed.

The seamstress worked for a long while in silence, only occasionally humming to herself or asking Nathalie where something was. Nathalie took notes on her clipboard of the girl's sewing speed, how many times she messed up, how many pins she used per foot of fabric, and other information Mr. Agreste had specifically asked her to jot down. However, the longer she observed, the more she found herself writing down not-so-professional notes about the girl's quirks and mannerisms.

_-She sticks her tongue out when concentrating._

_-She drums her fingers on the desk when she notices me looking at her._

_-She tries to hide her sketches of Adrien from me. They're very good._

"Marinette."

Marinette looked up quickly.

"Please try to refrain from biting on your nails. It isn't sanitary when handling the fabric."

"O-oh! I'm so sorry!" Marinette winced and bit her lip, going back to her work. She seemed to switch from perfectly confident to barely keeping her nerves together in the blink of an eye. It wasn't Nathalie's job to reassure her, but—

"Don't worry about it. Mr. Agreste can hardly get upset over something he used to do himself." She blurted the fact out before she thought about it, and Marinette looked just as surprised as her to hear it.

"Really? Mr. Agreste… used to bite his nails? He seems so confident! He built a fashion EMPIRE!"

"Not when he was starting out, he didn't," Nathalie replied, old memories flashing in her mind. "You actually remind me quite a bit of him, before Mrs. Bourgeoisie built him into the icon he is today."

Marinette gazed down at the fabric in her hands. "Wow. That's hard to imagine." She smiled and added with a shy blush, "Did… did Adrien ever bite his nails?"

Nathalie paused. "No… he takes more after his mother."

Marinette's face fell at the tragic reminder. "Oh." She was quiet for a few moments, then took a deep breath. "Um… I'm sorry if it's not my place to ask, but you know how… that is to say… well, what I mean is…"

"You want to know what happened to her."

Marinette looked down with a more serious expression than usual. "Whenever he starts to talk about his mom, Adrien gets this weird look of being really happy and really sad at the same time. I want to help him, but I don't know how. I thought maybe if I knew a little more, I could understand how he feels."

Nathalie's first thought was, _how old is this kid again?_ Those were some serious questions for someone her age. But still…

"I'm not in a position to tell you anything, and I don't know if asking him yourself would make the situation better or worse." Nathalie looked at the disappointed on the girl's face. "However… I do know a few unrelated activities that Adrien enjoys. It might not hurt your friendship to ask him to teach you a few of them."

Marinette's eyes widened in shock. "Really? Y-you're going to tell me Adrien?"

"It's not like I'm divulging any secret information," Nathalie said, brushing her off. "I'm just willing to talk about what he likes while you work. It seems to take your mind off your nerves, anyhow."

Marinette blinked, noticing the perfect stitching she'd achieved while talking with her observer. "I guess you're right. I never thought about being distracted as a _good_ thing before."

Nathalie nodded to herself, keeping her notes about Marinette in front of her and tucking away a different sheet at the bottom of her clipboard. She was _supposed_ to be multitasking and finishing the monthly report while she observed, but talking to this Marinette girl was potentially a much more productive use of time.

And besides… Nathalie Sancoeur had written enough monthly reports for a lifetime.

* * *

(I'm going to lie awake in bed tonight thinking about Marinette finding a strange mentor-like bond in Nathalie and Nathalie giving her dating advice [and possibly Marinette figuring out that Nathalie is as hopeless as she is/shot] and wow please tell I did NOT just give myself another brotp to obsess over)


End file.
